


Things Worth Dying For

by AgentExile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Express, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Romance, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius and Regulus Friendship, Sirius is Angry, Sirius is Depressed, Slow Burn, marauder's friendship, please protect remus lupin at all costs, the marauders deserve better, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentExile/pseuds/AgentExile
Summary: On the Hogwarts Express, Sirius Black dreads his last summer surrounded by his increasingly radical family, isolated from his closest friends.He yearns for the months of freedom at Hogwarts, but even upon his return he can’t always hide the scars. Only with Remus Lupin can he truly be himself, and he starts to realize his feelings are something more than friendship.Sirius and Remus find themselves dealing with a bourgeoning love amidst the omnipresent pressure of homework, school politics, and exams. But with the intensifying threat of outright war on the horizon, in the company of his friends Sirius begins to realize that there really are things worth dying for.





	1. The Short Ride

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Some abuse.

 

Sirius Black’s heart was sinking - a slow, steady descent with every field they passed. Was the Hogwarts Express travelling faster than usual? It seemed that way, his time with his friends draining away down into the cesspit of summer. He resented it more than almost anything else, the gradually warming days, every ray of sun dooming him to another two months of hell.

   ‘Padfoot, you’re wearing the same face you had when McGonagall walked in on you kissing Ally Mortimer,’ said James, in his familiar drawl.

   Sirius turned to look at him slowly, trying to push the pain from his eyes and replace it with a look of nonchalance. ‘So would you be if you were going home to spend another summer with the Queen of Darkness.’

   James laughed, reaching forward to clap him on the shoulder. ‘One more year. Not even that, two months! Then you can get the hell outta that hole, come move in with me. Not even ministry ilk can drag you out of there once you’re seventeen!’

   ‘Yeah,’ said Sirius, with a deeply transparent smile. Still, James didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps Remus did, because when James turned back to continue his one-sided ‘discussion’ with Peter on the fundamental principles of jinxing, he looked directly to him, grabbing his eyes with his frustratingly magnetic gaze.

   He leaned forward from the seat opposite, forcing Sirius into looking at him properly. ‘Perhaps if you could convince them to let you out, even for a day - I could come to London to meet you!’

   Sirius shook his head. ‘Like we haven’t tried it before. She’s too powerful of a legilimens. It’s okay, Remus,’ he said, suddenly feeling much more comfortable resuming his usual role reassuring Remus, rather than himself, ‘like James says, it’s only a couple of months.’

‘I’ll send you mail every day.’

   ‘You know she reads my letters?’ he said, with a wry smile.

   ‘I’ll write in code.’

   Sirius nodded, wishing that he had words to express his ever-growing gratitude to Remus. He loved James as his brother, but he could be… self-absorbed. Not intentionally - in fact, his mission to woo Lily Evans meant that he was actively aiming for the opposite - but he still struggled sometimes to notice the problems of others, unless they were waved right in front of his face, preferably with the name ‘LILY’ printed across them.

   Remus on the other hand… Remus understood everything. He was perhaps the one person that Sirius had ever met who had the right to be truly self-centred, his own upbringing dictated entirely by matters beyond his control. Friendless for his childhood, ostracised by all who knew the truth, and living in fear that those who didn’t would find out. And yet, instead of placing himself at the centre of his own universe, he loitered on the fringe - watching, listening, and truly, above all, _caring_.

   If only the world could see Remus’s remarkable ability to care for others. Maybe then they could forget their ridiculous prejudices against his kind.

   The fields had been replaced by smatterings of houses. Soon those would be replaced by terraces, and before long London would roll into view. Sirius leant his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes to absorb these last minutes of relative happiness.

   London.

   He didn’t hate London, in fact as a city he didn’t mind it, but even the familiar shapes of buildings seemed to trigger his dread.

   ‘Oh man, I am gonna eat like twelve of my ma’s pies when I get home,’ announced James, interrupting the first words that Peter had managed to get in edgeways.

   ‘Me too, but you know… my mum’s, not yours,’ said Peter, following James’s change of subject without so much as a stutter. Sirius wanted to laugh, ever wondering whether James was still oblivious to Peter’s unique skills as a shameless sycophant.

   ‘You already ate about twelve eggs and half a pig for breakfast,’ said Remus, a little disapprovingly, though his eyes did not leave Sirius.

   ‘You don’t become Quidditch captain without protein, Moony.’

   ‘Hmm, and what’s Peter’s excuse?’ muttered Sirius.

   ‘He speaks! You’re still with us!’

   ‘What about you, Padfoot?’ said Peter, misguided but admittedly earnest.

   Sirius looked up, realising that his mouth was very dry. ‘Oh, mother’s having the whole family for dinner. Bella and Rodolphus, Narcissa and the husband, father if he can be bothered. Grandfather will be there to fawn over Regulus. Oh and some other cousins they’ll drag up from somewhere I’m sure. And this year I won’t even have Andromeda there as a buffer. She couldn’t have waited a couple more years to marry him? No, of course she couldn’t. We can’t overload the sanity quota at the Black dinner table now, can we?’

   Only when he looked around did he realise quite the level of bitterness that had slunk into his tone. This definitely counted as waving it in James’s face, because even he seemed to have noticed the drop in temperature.

   ‘Padfoot, I - ’

   ‘Don’t… I just… I don’t want to…’ He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. That he didn’t want to talk about it? That he didn’t want to waste their last moments together for months, talking about his family? That he was grossly embarrassed to even say their names in front of them? The long list of _toujours-pur,_ delusional, Voldemort-worshipping-fanatics. More than one of them already labelled themselves as ‘Death-Eater.’ Even the name was pathetic.

   It didn’t matter, because the outside world had been replaced by the inside of King’s Cross Station, achingly familiar and foreboding.

   As the train pulled to a halt, the friends stood, James making a particular show of stretching. Sirius reached up to lift Remus’s trunk down first - his friend was still so thin that Sirius worried his arms might snap under the slightest weight - then his own.

   All too quickly they were shuffling out onto the platform. All too quickly, James was sauntering over to his beaming parents. All too quickly, Peter had spotted his own mother, a spindly woman so at odds with her son - if Remus looked delicate, then she looked positively fragile. All too quickly, Remus had lifted a hand to wave at Lyall and Hope, waiting in a corner.

   Sirius noticed that Lyall looked drawn. Was it because it was only two days until the full moon? Or did his face simply wear its cloak of anxiety all year round these days? He couldn’t remember.

   Remus turned to him, throwing his skinny arms around him. ‘Don’t let them bring you down, Sirius.’

   _Them_ was present in the form of his grandfather Arcturus, already hugging Regulus with a familiar smug expression. He was the only Black to ever come to the platform. Sirius’s father was always concerned with work, whatever that meant, and his mother would not even contemplate the notion of setting foot in a station with half-bloods, muggle-borns, or worst of all: muggles. Arcturus, on the other hand, relished the occasion. To him, any venture outside was a chance to represent the noble House of Black.

   He dressed in outrageous finery, wealth dripping from his every detail, and he took the opportunity to give looks of deep-seated loathing to the passing muggle-borns. Of course, there was one group that he hated even more than Walburga hated muggles: blood traitors. He reserved his most contemptuous looks for them, careful to make pointed remarks to Regulus whenever they passed.

   To Sirius, it all just looked grossly embarrassing - a paranoid old man raving on a train platform. But some of his victims scurried past as if scolded, and several of the other Slytherin parents sidled over to make conversation, joining the steely-eyed party.

   ‘Alright, Padfoot - they mess with you, you send an owl right away, right?’ James had bounded back over, now shooting Arcturus a look that could rival his own contempt. ‘I swear to God I’ll fucking end them.’

   Sirius gave a weak smile. If James knew half of what went on behind the closed door of number 12 Grimmauld Place, he would probably already be locked in Azkaban. Sometimes, Sirius thought, his ignorance could be a blessing.

   ‘See you in September, Padfoot,’ said Peter, pulling Sirius towards him for an awkward hug, made even more uncomfortable by the several inches of height that Sirius had gained on him over the last few months.

   ‘Goodbye, Wormtail,’ he said, mustering up the most optimistic voice that he could. ‘Have a good summer.’

   ‘Diagon Alley,’ said James, ‘pick a day, _any_ day and I’ll be there. If the she-devil chooses August thirty- _second_ , I’ll be there.’ He hugged Sirius too, gripping the back of his jacket tightly. ‘Just a couple more months, Sirius, then you’re free,’ he said quietly, closer to his ear, ‘hang in there.’

   ‘Yeah. Don’t worry about me.’

   As his friends hurried back to their parents, Sirius turned to Remus one more time. He didn’t have to say anything; Remus pulled him into another hug, then held him out at arms’ length. ‘Okay. One day at a time. I’ll be counting.’

   ‘Bye Remus,’ Sirius said miserably.

   Remus turned and walked over to his own harried but loving parents, twisting to shout ‘I’LL BE COUNTING!’ one more time with a wave.

   Sirius waved back half-heartedly, then turned to where Arcturus and Regulus were waiting. The platform was beginning to thin, now, as kids everywhere returned to their homes for summers filled with fun, food and family. As if there were weights in his shoes, Sirius began to drag his feet over to his own summer.

   ‘Sirius.’

   ‘Grandfather.’

   ‘Who was that boy?’

   Sirius looked up with irritated eyes - could they not have kept it to greetings only? ‘Remus, grandfather, you’ve seen him before.’

   ‘Remus who?’

   ‘Remus Lupin.’

   ‘Oh yes,’ Arcturus mused, as if this was really any surprise to him. The old cat never forgot a face, or, more importantly, a name, but he liked to play this game each year. ‘Lyall Lupin’s son, is he not?’

   Through gritted teeth: ‘yes.’

   ‘Decent line, that one: Lupin. Good amount of purebloods, plenty of talent. Lyall Lupin was a real up-and-comer, until he married his muggle whore. A shame. Yet another line tainted forever.’

   Sirius didn’t reply. More than anything, he wished they could leave. With less people on the platform, more were staring, and some were listening.

   ‘And that one?’

   The Potters were now talking animatedly to the MacDonalds.

   ‘James. James Potter.’

   ‘Ah, another waste! Blood almost as pure as our own, dare I say it, but Gryffindors the lot. I still wonder exactly where that one went wrong. I mean, Ravenclaw I could stomach, but -’

   ‘It may have escaped your notice, grandfather, but I’m in Gryffindor too,’ Sirius interrupted coolly. He actually heard Regulus give an intake of breath.

   If Arcturus heard, he didn’t show it. He was craning his neck now, apparently searching for Peter so as to complete the ritual. He was out of luck - the Pettigrews had already left.

   ‘Can we go now?’

   That he acknowledged, turning back slowly. Sirius might have grown over the last few months, but Arcturus towered over him, formidable even in age. ‘You watch your tone with me, boy.’

   ‘Or what?’

   Arcturus surveyed him for a moment. ‘The Black family do not make a scene in public.’

   Sirius shrugged as casually as he could, already wishing that he hadn’t said it. The split second of satisfaction was not worth it. Arcturus did not forget small offences, and Sirius knew that he would pay for his cheek when they got home.

   With a false, leering smile, Arcturus gave a last wave to the Nott family before disapparating.  

 

*

 

Sirius was light-headed enough from the side-along apparition that he almost didn’t notice the feeling of disgust as they stepped over the threshold into number 12. That was, until his mother crowed out at their arrival from some distant floor above, and the reality of his situation crashed back into place.

   ‘You - second floor drawing room, _now_ ,’ said Arcturus coolly, giving Sirius a shove on the shoulder.

   Sirius sloped to the stairs, flattening against the wall as his mother glided past to greet Regulus. She didn’t even seem to notice him. If it stayed that way all summer, he would be happy. Part of the furniture. He suspected that he would not be so lucky.

   Into the drawing room he traipsed, feeling the disapproving eyes of countless Black portraits on the wall watching him. For a couple of minutes, he stood in silence, then the door opened again, and he turned to see Arcturus, now without his black travelling cloak, stepping into the room.  

   ‘I hoped this summer would be different, Sirius.’

   ‘Yeah? Join the club. I’m the goddamn President,’ said Sirius, trying to channel James’s breeziness but really feeling a little more of Peter’s nerves.

   ‘Every year, I hope that you will begin to understand. The Sorting Hat is not infallible, and it is not unusual for children to… rebel. But the fun has to stop some time, Sirius. A war is coming, and the Black family needs you to _step up_.’

   ‘You’ve already got perfect little Regulus! Train him to be the new family poster-boy! I’m not interested.’

   ‘Regulus is weak. He tries, an admirable quality, but the power of the bloodline seems, for reasons that defy all understanding, to have channelled to you.’

   ‘Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t want it.’

   Sirius recoiled as Arcturus slashed his wand through the air and he was struck across the face, as if by some invisible force. It knocked him back a couple of paces, and left a burning sensation in his throbbing cheekbone afterwards. His hand flew automatically to his face, fingers brushing the hot skin. He had been unprepared; of all that he had said today, he had not expected that particular sentence to trigger this reaction.

   ‘ _Never_ say that you don’t want power, Sirius. I don’t care if it’s Black family power, Gryffindor power, run-and-join-a-colony-of-pixies power! Power is the single most important force in this world. People _die_ for power, and you have it given you on a silver platter! If you’re going to be a disgrace to the name of Black, at least don’t be a disgrace to the name of wizard!’

   Sirius looked up at him, lowering his hand from the smarting bruise. He spoke slowly, careful to enunciate every syllable: ‘I wish I’d been born a squib, just to see the look on your face.’

   Arcturus’ struck him again with the cruel hex, across the same cheek, but this time Sirius was ready, and he barely flinched.

   ‘Get to your room,’ said Arcturus, standing a little taller.

   ‘Gladly,’ spat Sirius, reaching up to wipe away the blood now dripping from his left nostril.

   ‘Kreacher will fetch you when it is time for dinner.’

   Sirius turned on his heel, halfway to the door. ‘I still have to go to dinner?’

   Arcturus smiled. ‘In future, Sirius, learn that insolence is not usually the best way to get what you want.’

   The sound of Sirius’ door slamming a moment later could be heard throughout the entire house.


	2. Toujours Pur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who left comments, kudos or bookmarked Chapter 1, I love you all!

 

Sirius paced the familiar route of his childhood bedroom - six steps to the far wall, a turn around the bed, twelve careful pigeon steps along the wall, then back to the door. The number of paces had changed, but Sirius couldn’t help but feel that the boy hadn’t. The kid who had once taken 20 skipping steps across the room had been just as incongruous, just as ill placed in this bastion of hate.

   The room was exactly as he had left it almost a year ago. Sirius had the distinct impression that Kreacher had been sent to launder the sheets, and yet had arranged them back into the exact crinkled manner in which he had left them. It almost made him smile.

   The house-elf had already brought up his trunk, dumped unceremoniously in a corner.

   Sirius walked over to it, the leather creaking a little as he sat down atop it. He ran a hand through his messy hair. After a moment of contemplation, he tasted the metallic tinge of blood on his lip. He’d forgotten his bleeding nose already. He drew out his wand, giving it a lazy wave and feeling the numbing sensation take over the stinging. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery had never carried much clout in the Black house.

   He stood, already restless. If half an hour at home had him pacing, he dreaded to think what two months would do.

   Over to the window. From the fourth floor, the muggle figures wandering about below looked almost animated.

   He turned around with interest at a small knock on the door, so quiet that it was almost imperceptible. Orion or Walburga would have entered without a second thought, and he would recognise Kreacher’s shuffling anywhere. No, it was either Arcturus or Regulus, and he figured from the events minutes earlier that it would not be the former.

   ‘Yeah?’

   Regulus appeared in the doorway, small and nervous-looking as ever. At times like this, Sirius was always reminded that he was still only fourteen. At Hogwarts, Regulus was different. Still quiet, still reserved, but with the straight back and tilted jaw that came with the Black name. He was quietly confident, popular with the other Slytherins, popular too with his teachers. Oh yes, Regulus was smart, sometimes too smart for his own good. Sirius lived in an unspoken fear that one day Regulus would deduce the wrong thing, he alone understanding something that would put him in danger.

   But here at Grimmauld Place, he seemed smaller, swallowed by the presence of his elders. Indeed, the family seemed to think him something of a milksop, albeit a loyal one. Sirius smirked a little at their underestimation.

   ‘Are you okay?’

   Sirius shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

   ‘How angry was grandfather?’

   Sirius paused, before continuing as usual. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ The last thing he needed was Regulus worrying about him.

   ‘Bella just got here. And Cissa and Lucius.’

   _Lucius_ , that was the husband’s name. Narcissa had done well, married straight out of Hogwarts to an excellent pure-blood line. The _Malfoys_. Even without speaking, he felt the bitter taste of the word on his tongue.

   ‘Great.’

   ‘Mother said you need to change.’

   Sirius noticed his brother’s green dress robes. At the back of his own closet were two sets of dress robes, black and green, neither of which he had ever had any intention of wearing.

   ‘Fuck Walburga.’

   Then Regulus, in a small voice - ‘please, Sirius.’

   _Damn_. He wished they had just sent Kreacher after all.

   ‘Fine. For you, not for her.’

 

*

 

Ten minutes later, Sirius Black stood at the door of the grand dining room, dressed in fine black dress robes, his long hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of his neck. There was no trace of blood or bruising to indicate the earlier encounter with Arcturus.  

   The old man himself was gliding around with a repellent grace, the likes of which only he could accomplish. His wife, Melania, stood in a corner, her face ashen and detached as ever. Sirius assumed that she had once been as imposing as the rest of them - how else could she have landed Arcturus? - but somewhere down the line this had been lost. She looked almost as uncomfortable as Sirius.

   The entrance hall was filled with his least favourite people in the world.

   As well as Arcturus and Melania, there was Walburga, cackling and crowing as ever. Narcissa and Lucius, offensively well matched, and Bellatrix now-Lestrange, her husband as yet nowhere to be seen. Lucretia was there, with an unfamiliar new partner with furious red hair. Cygnus and Druella, dressed in robes better suited to the 18th century. Sirius’ father, Orion, was not in attendance. He wasn’t surprised.

   For the sake of Regulus, now shuffling awkwardly amongst his relatives, Sirius planted an overtly fake smile onto his face.

   He managed the reception with his false grin and dripping sarcasm perfectly well, until they had sat down for dinner, and sometime during the lamb course, Rodolphus Lestrange arrived. Things went downhill rapidly from then.  

   Rodolphus had always been unsavoury, even when Sirius had first seen him during his last couple of years at Hogwarts. The Lestrange family had none of the subtlety of the Blacks, wearing their radicalism like a badge on their chests. He was tall, brawny, dressed not in dress-robes but dirtied day-wear, as though he had just returned from torturing muggles or whatever it was his sort spent their days on.

   His arms were unsleeved. His left bore a violent wound, black and red like a swollen, infected tattoo. Finally, having ignored the vast majority of the dinner so far, Sirius looked up in interest.

   Bellatrix reacted first, standing all the way up from the table to slide over to her husband. She showed his face little attention, eyes fixated instead on this new scarification.

   Sirius’ mother and grandfather greeted him warmly, but all other eyes were on that mark. Tilting his head a little to gain a better view, Sirius made out a black snake, and a menacing skull. Snakes, death, it wasn’t unusual in the family. He didn’t know in that moment just how infamous this symbol would one day become.

   ‘So sorry to be late, I was with the Dark Lord on important business.’

   The mention of Voldemort sent a ripple around the room. Only Lucretia looked uncomfortable, glancing over to Sirius, and her new partner quickly joined their wordless exchange.

   Bellatrix exhaled with a tinge of exhilaration even at the mention of his name.

   After holding the room on tenterhooks for a moment longer: ‘he gave me this.’

   He held out his arm for all to see closer.

   Regulus actually started to rise out of his seat to look. Sirius caught his forearm in an uncharacteristically steely grip. Regulus shot him a furious look.

   ‘The Dark Mark. A gift, from the Dark Lord.’

   ‘What does it mean?’ Lucius said, with something like thinly veiled envy.

   This did not go unnoticed by Rodolphus. ‘Oh don’t worry, Lucius, you’ll get yours soon enough. Only four others have this mark - Avery, Rosier, Nott, and of course my father. A relic from their time at school, our Lord’s earliest allies. Now it’s our turn, and he _chose_ me to have mine first.’

   Sirius saw a flash of white hot jealousy cross Bellatrix’s face, but she rearranged it quickly into excitement.

   The family were all chattering in excitement.

   Regulus had pulled himself free and was leaning across to look. Lestrange clapped his hand down onto his shoulder with faux affability. ‘In a couple of years, Regulus, the Dark Lord will give you yours.’

   This, Sirius could have handled. But Regulus responded with such awe, bordering on the reverence Bellatrix wore at the mention of her master’s name, that at the sight of his face, Sirius stood involuntarily.

   Everyone turned to look at him. Walburga’s face turned to thunder. Bellatrix grinned goadingly. Something in Narcissa’s expression told him to sit down and shut up, as though it was a strategy she had been mastering.  

   ‘Do you have something to say, Sirius?’ Threat dripped from his mother’s tone.

   Sirius turned directly to his brother, looking even younger in his admiration. ‘Stay away from the fanatics, Regulus, their tattoos are going to look fucking pathetic in ten years’ time.’  

   An intake of breath from someone. A cackle from Bellatrix. Rodolphus reached for his wand.

   ‘Enough.’

   Arcturus’ voice was so cold, so steely, that even Rodolphus paused. The room waited as though frozen in time.

   For once, Sirius didn’t regret his offence, even under the gaze of his grandfather. There was no fear in his veins, only rage. Pure, unadulterated rage at the expression on Regulus’ face and the fascists who had put it there.

   Sirius ignored Arcturus’ order. ‘Sorry, let’s say _five_. Five years before you’re buried so deep in Azkaban even Macnair won’t be able to find your arse to kiss. The lot of you, just a sad footnote in wizarding history. I can’t wait.’

   Nobody moved, no doubt out of deference to Arcturus.

   ‘Go.’

   Sirius didn’t need telling twice. He kicked back his chair, picking up the goblet of firewhiskey in front of him to knock back obviously. He slammed the cup back down before stalking away, his heart pounding. This was it, he could leave. He could grab his things and race to the Potters’ at last. Arcturus was kicking him out.

   ‘I’ll deal with you later.’ This a little quieter, though audible enough that everybody could hear it.

   It was as though Arcturus had read his mind, dashing his every hope in those five words.

   No, they’d rather keep him here. Even now. Grimmauld place his very own Azkaban.

   He sloped slowly up the stairs, bumping into Kreacher as he emerged from the kitchens.

   ‘Filthy blood-traitor…’

   Sirius didn’t bother to remind him who his master was. ‘Fuck off, Kreacher.’

   Up the stairs, back to the bedroom.

   It already felt like months ago that he had left Remus, James and Peter on the platform. He wondered how their homecoming dinners were going, with their beloved parents. He kicked out at his Hogwarts trunk, reeling back at the shooting pain in his foot and hopping groaning to his bed. ‘Mother _fucker_!’

   It was then that he heard a tapping on the window, so quiet that he could not be sure it was even real. He stood up, limping over to it, and pushed back the velvet curtain.

   Outside on the ledge sat a beautiful piece of magic.

   The origami wolf paced back and forth, shoulders raised in elegant little folds of parchment. It turned to look at Sirius with lifelike motion. He opened the window a little, allowing it to step inside. Behind it, it effortlessly pulled a package that must’ve been twenty times its weight.

   Before his eyes the wolf unfolded, and for a moment he wished it could have stayed just for the company.

   He picked up the letter.

_Padfoot,_

_I wonder if Walburga can catch this one._

_I wanted you to have a real family dinner._

_There’s enough for Regulus, but I doubt he’ll see any of it._

   At this, Sirius smiled.

_Two months will fly by - that’s only two full moons and they seem to happen every other day!_

_If you get this, write me._

_Yours,_

_Moony_

   Sirius traced his fingertips over the parchment. _Yours, Moony_. He smiled, opening the package, wrapped in crinkled brown paper. Inside there were two slices of a giant date cake.

   He took out one, putting it down on his desk, but wrapped the other back up to save for Regulus. Sometimes, Remus underestimated him.

   He was about to start penning his reply, musing on how to make his own parchment dog, when there was a loud screech and James’s owl soared through the open window, careering around the room for a moment before settling on Sirius’ bedstead. _Subtle, James_. He was suddenly glad that his family were preoccupied with their ravings downstairs.

   From James, a shorter note.

   _Padfoot,_

_Don’t think I’ve forgotten you. Do drink it all at once._

_Prongs_

_PS. I’m going to send Evans a letter. What do you think?_

   Sirius shook his head, but he was grinning. In James’s parcel, a slice of cherry pie, and a flask of homemade butterbeer, no doubt brewed by his parents.

   He sat down on the bed with his two notes, grinning to himself. He had the sneaking suspicion that he would receive something from Peter later - his family travelled the slow way - and the thought of his friends made Grimmauld Place a little less cold.

_Yours, Moony_.

   He laid back on his Gryffindor throw, head amongst the gold pillows, and started to pick at his feast, reading his letters again. This, _this_ was his real family. They had barely waited a couple of hours before writing. He looked at the window; how long would it take the Ministry to find him if he just disappeared? Maybe Walburga would cut her losses and not even bother.

   _One more summer._

   How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB. Sorry that this chapter was almost Marauder-less, but it had to be done! Hope you enjoyed reading ^_^


	3. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks as ever to all who comment, leave kudos, and read these chapters!
> 
> TW: References to abuse, inc. implications of self-blame.

   Following the events of the Black family dinner, life at number 12 Grimmauld Place settled into a dull monotony.

   Sirius’ cheekbone still smarted from that night, and he wore a slowly fading black eye, so he had decided to cut his losses, passing much of the following weeks hidden away in his room. He had concluded that the fleeting moments of pleasure at provoking his family were not worth the subsequent reaction. In return, the family left him to his thoughts. Indeed, he had the distinct feeling that Arcturus too felt that things had escalated beyond a tolerable level that night, and even he seemed reticent to target Sirius any further. Perhaps both of them had gone too far.

   And so there lingered from that moment something of a quiet disrespect between them.

   They stayed well out of each other’s way. A couple of times a day, Sirius would slip out of his room, mostly keeping to the top floor and attic, visiting Regulus or the library. At dinner, he ate in silence, and Walburga and Arcturus made conversation with Regulus, or discussed the news of the day.

   The news was getting worse and worse.

   Disappearances, deaths, and the increasingly infamous Dark Mark emblazoned across the sky every night.

   One particular evening, towards the end of August, Sirius listened with interest, keeping his eyes on his veal.

   ‘Dolohov took down McGonagall. The others seem to be wasting time on muggle attacks like a bunch of low-rent rabble-rousers.’  

   Sirius actually looked up at this, fork hovering in mid-air. Something heavy sunk in the pit of his stomach. He thought of the unfinished transfiguration homework on his desk. Slowly, he lowered the silverware and swallowed his unchewed mouthful.

   ‘Don’t begrudge them their fun, Arcturus! We should give our thanks for every dead muggle,’ said Walburga in a defensive voice.

   ‘McGonagall?’ he said. How many times he had complained at her about detention. Now he would give anything for her to be stood in front of him shouting about Gamp’s Law.

   Everyone turned to look at him, apparently utterly astonished that he still retained the capacity to speak.

   ‘Oh you’re still with us, Sirius?’ Arcturus said coolly.

   ‘You said Dolohov killed McGonagall?’

   Regulus glanced at him, then to their grandfather. ‘Professor McGonagall is our teacher at Hogwarts, sir.’

   Arcturus shrugged. ‘Oh not the woman. This was the brother. Between you and me, Regulus, I’d dare say our Lord holds out some hope for the witch to defect. A lot of power there. The brother not so much, though the way Dolohov is going on you’d think he’d taken down Dumbledore himself.’

   Sirius exhaled, eating just to give himself something to do. For a moment, he felt awash with relief. Then all of a sudden he felt worse.

   Was this the future? Was this where war left them? Deciding that one death was less critical than another; a feeling of relief at the realisation that it is not one you know who has been killed, but just another faceless fighter? Sickened by his own thoughts, he sat back.

   ‘May I be excused?’

   ‘No.’ Walburga.

   ‘Yes.’ Arcturus.

   Sirius stood, nobody questioning Arcturus’ seniority.

   He walked out into the hallway, ready to return to his room, but before he could make it all the way up the stairs, he heard Arcturus’ voice behind him.

   ‘Sirius? A word?’

   _So close_.

   He turned on his heels, trying to arrange his face into something like civility.

   Arcturus jerked his head towards the first floor drawing room.

   Sirius sighed, sloping inside. He leant back against the Black family tapestry as Arcturus closed the door. This act of impertinence would usually have earned him at the very least a verbal lashing, but Arcturus seemed unaffected, strolling over to a green leather armchair and sitting down.

   He surveyed his grandson. Sirius avoided looking at him back.

   ‘You know, Sirius, I’ve very much appreciated your improved behaviour over the last few weeks. Your maturity has impressed me.’

   Sirius wanted to make a scathing remark, but he had to confess that he was intrigued, so he kept his mouth shut.

   ‘We live in difficult times, Sirius. When I was growing up, the Black name and a pocket full of galleons was enough to get you through life. A sickle or two thrown the ministry’s way, and a favour or two paid to the noble families. We could exist comfortably in both worlds. But things are different now, for you young ones. In this world full of blood-traitors and…’ he paused, searching for the perfect word, ‘… _crossbreeding_ … your name is no longer enough - you must now prove your worth.’

   ‘To who?’ Sirius ventured, though he knew the answer.

   ‘To the Dark Lord, Sirius. Don’t make a face. This is not child’s play. Like it or not, this is the world we live in. _Merlin_ , this is the future! I don’t give a damn what you believe, if your friends and _teachers_ run around with the Ministry or the Order of the Phoenix - I don’t give a damn what liberal utopia exists _inside your head_. What matters is the Sirius you show the world, and you need to be seen to be on the right side of this. There is no space for idealists in this realist world. Choke down your fantasies, swallow your pride, and there may just be place for you in the new order.’

   ‘The Dark Lord won’t win.’

   Arcturus narrowed his eyes, then said, very carefully, enunciating every syllable: ‘It. Doesn’t. Matter.’

   Sirius shuffled awkwardly from one foot to another, wishing that Arcturus would just shout at him like usual before leaving him in peace.

   ‘Keep your nose clean, but assert your allegiance to the right people where needed. You could learn a lot from your cousin.’

   ‘Bellatrix? This all goes south and she winds up in Azkaban. How does that help the family name?’

   ‘Not Bellatrix. I admire her loyalty but she bears nothing of the Black finesse, a trait she shares with your mother. It’s why she married Lestrange. No, the brains went to your cousin Narcissa. She and Lucius play the game oh-so-elegantly. I’ll wager you here and now that whichever way this war ends, they’ll find themselves wealthy and powerful, name intact. It’s all about toeing the line. You’d do well to remember that I’ve seen all this before. I watched the fallout from Grindelwald’s crusade.’

   ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

   Arcturus stood up, straightening his back. ‘Because next summer you will be of age, and if I know you at all, you won’t be coming back here. This may be my last chance to get through to you.’

   Sirius chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering whether to just nod and shrug and go about the rest of his summer in peace.

   ‘Since when do you care about me?’

‘Since the Black blood of our most noble ancestors runs through your veins. Besides, Gryffindor or not, you are my grandson.’

   ‘Seems to me that people are going to wind up dead either way. What difference does it make if it’s as a Death Eater or as a…’ his breath caught as he stumbled over his words, ‘as a… McGonagall.’

   ‘If not for self-preservation, then at the very least do this for your family, for your _brother_. How do you think it will look for Regulus in the eyes of the Dark Lord if you’re running around with mudbloods and blood-traitors?’

   For the first time, Sirius felt something like doubt. _Regulus_. He pushed this thought to the back of his mind. Regulus would be fine. After all, he’d have Arcturus’ steering hands, an alarmingly accurate compass in this murky world. Even Sirius could admit that, albeit begrudgingly.

   But Sirius didn’t care about self-preservation or his name. He cared about something that Arcturus would never understand. _Doing what is right._

After much calculation, he spoke. ‘You’re right, I won’t come back here.’

   ‘I hope you change your mind. But if not, at least keep in mind what I have said to you.’

   Sirius swallowed, slowly becoming aware that this was a watershed moment.

   ‘You take care of Regulus,’ he said, with perhaps the most authority he had ever mustered in the face of his grandfather.

   They stood across from each other, and for the first time, though still only sixteen, Sirius felt that they were facing one another as equals.

   ‘I’m sure he’d rather have his brother looking out for him.’

   ‘He’ll know where to find me.’

   Arcturus inclined his head. ‘I’m leaving at dawn.’

   ‘Where are you going?’

   ‘Business.’

   ‘Right.’

   Arcturus looked like he wanted to say something else, but was not quite sure what.

   ‘I guess I’ll see you on the other side,’ supplied Sirius, buoyed by the adrenaline of the critical moment.

   ‘The other side of what?’

   Sirius shrugged. ‘My sixth year? The war? This mortal plane? Guess I’m not sure yet.’

   ‘Well you need to start making some choices, Sirius. The clock is ticking.’

   His grandfather walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.  

   It was the last time that Sirius and Arcturus would stand in the same room together.

 

*

 

The final day of August dawned with an optimistic sun.

   Sirius woke up early, in keen anticipation of the day ahead. Finally, the Black family would visit Diagon Alley. Finally, after so many agonising weeks, Sirius would return to the company of his friends.

   Walburga had left it as late as she could; according to her, _mudbloods_ were more likely to shop as early as possible.

   On the plus side, Sirius was permitted to stay with Remus, Peter and James at the Leaky Cauldron for the night, and make his own way to King’s Cross the following day.

   On the down side, he was going to have to be seen in public with his raving mother.

   He prayed that he could abandon her early on in Knockturn Alley.

   He stretched with a revitalised vigour, strolling over to his desk and picking up his Hogwarts letter and booklist. Beneath the booklist was the folded parchment of his O.W.L. results. It had sat unopened on his desk for an entire month. Well, not completely unopened - after a week or so Sirius had noticed a slight crinkle in the parchment, and he was fairly certain that Kreacher had filched it before carefully replacing it later, either for Walburga or Arcturus. Sirius suspected the latter. But he had not read it. Not even once. And whoever had read it did not mention it.

   James’s owl had arrived first, boasting his 10 pass grades (5 Outstandings, 4 Exceeds Expectations, and 1 measly Acceptable, for History of Magic). In reward, his parents were going to buy him a new broomstick.

   Remus had mailed next, quietly proud of his 6 Outstanding grades, the result of five years of extraordinarily diligent study, but quietly disappointed with an Acceptable grade in Charms, taken the afternoon before the full moon, and a flat-out fail grade for his missed Astronomy exam that night (which he was already determined to resit).

   The last response had come from Peter, filled with desperate scrawlings begging for advice. He had failed five subjects, three of which he had planned to take to N.E.W.T, but had achieved fairly strong grades in Potions, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sirius often wondered about Peter’s true potential - at times he seemed as adept as any of them - but the pressure of exams had sent him into a downward spiral towards the end of term.

   Sirius had avoided all their questions - easy to do via owl - and left his letter unread. He wasn’t even sure why. It was almost like his own battle of wills, since he had tried to stop fighting with his family, a war set up purely for himself.

   Now, faced with the prospect of book-buying, he had no choice.

   He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and unfolded the parchment.

 

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass Grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A)._

_Fail Grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), Troll (T)._

_SIRIUS ORION BLACK HAS ACHIEVED:_

_Core Results)_

_Astronomy: D_

_Charms: O_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: O_

_Herbology: A_

_History of Magic: P_

_Potions: E_

_Transfiguration: O_

_Electives)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: O_

_Muggle Studies: D_

_Study of Ancient Runes: A_

   He examined the mixed bag carefully.

   The D in Astronomy was expected - he had been far too concerned about Remus to focus on his telescope - and as for the D in Muggle Studies, well… He had only taken the subject to antagonise his mother, and had quickly regretted his own cheek. It was the most boring subject he had ever studied, even compared to History of Magic (the P in which he thought was a little unfair). There was far too much time spent on muggle politics and not nearly enough on motorcycles and football.

   But he had done well otherwise - Outstanding grades in the most important subjects, and passes at the very least elsewhere. Given the amount of times McGonagall had pulled him aside, concerned about his tiredness, his distractedness, and his distinct lack of work ethic, he thought this was a pretty good set of results. Not as good as Remus and James, but solid.

   He folded the paper up, musing on his N.E.W.T classes. At the back of his mind, he nurtured a quiet interest in becoming an auror. After all, nothing would offend his family more. Were his grades good enough?

   For a fleeting moment, he felt a seeping regret. If only he had applied himself, he was fairly certain he could have achieved Os across the board. He knew he was smart. Still, he’d had a lot going on, what with being stretched pretty thin between the Death Eater world of his family and the magnetic pull of his friends. Yes, he ought to be quite happy.

   He could continue with Transfiguration, Charms, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but he knew that they would want a fifth _facilitating_ subject. Perhaps he could convince McGonagall to wangle him a place on Ancient Runes or Herbology.

   Then again, the way things were going he couldn’t help but think that everyone would be fighting dark wizards within five years, regardless of their job description, so was there really any point?

  

*

 

   Sirius’ wish came true after only a few minutes in Diagon Alley. Shortly after visiting Gringotts, Walburga had announced: ‘ _mudbloods, mudbloods everywhere_!’ and disapparated, leaving Sirius and Regulus standing alone on the marble steps.

   Regulus stared at the spot where she had stood a second ago.

   ‘That must be some kind of record for her,’ said Sirius, unable to conceal the glee in his voice.

   ‘The Slug Club are meeting in the Leaky Cauldron for lunch,’ said Regulus, smiling encouragingly as though he knew he was freeing Sirius to see his friends.

   ‘You’ll be alright by yourself?’

   ‘I’m fourteen, Sirius, not nine.’

   ‘Right. Cool. Well if I don’t see you around, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?’

   ‘See you, Sirius.’

   Sirius gave his younger brother a small wave, watching him disappear into the throng heading back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

   After he was gone, Sirius jumped down from the steps immediately and darted away in the direction of Broomstix.

   Sure enough, he didn’t even need to go inside to find his friends. He could see James through the window, flanked by his excited parents as they haggled over broomsticks. A little way down the road, Peter was arguing with his mother in a whining voice. And right outside Broomstix stood Remus. He was holding a book, but his eyes were glazed.

   He looked unwell. It was two days before the full moon.

   ‘Oi, Moony!’ he shouted, unable to hold back the beaming smile from his face. His two months of solitude were finally over.

   Remus looked up, and his tired face broke into a smile too. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his skin looked waxy and drawn. But it was Remus. Moony. Stood right in front of him.

   ‘Sirius,’ he breathed.

   Sirius bounded over, pulling him into an enthusiastic hug. He released him a little when he realised that Remus felt so frail he might just snap under the pressure. His friend didn’t seem to mind, though, apparently unaware of his own fragility.

   ‘How did you get away?’

   ‘Oh the locals did the work for me,’ Sirius grinned.

   ‘I missed you.’

   ‘Not as much as I missed you, trust me,’ Sirius said, shaking his head darkly.

   Remus reached up, touching his fingers to the red cut on Sirius’ left cheek. Sirius pulled away, pushing his long hair forward to cover more of his face. In Arcturus’ absence, Walburga had become perhaps even more uncontrollable, and Sirius had paid the price for risking one sarcastic remark on the topic of Ministry arrests. Her nails cut like a bitch. At least Arcturus had the decency to use his wand.

   ‘How did they treat you?’

   He shrugged, ‘sometimes fine. Sometimes not.’

   ‘You know you never have to go back there now?’ said Remus, lifting his hand again. This time Sirius didn’t pull away, letting Remus touch the skin. ‘ _Consano_ ,’ he murmured, touching his wand there with his free hand. Sirius felt the skin heal over with a slight stinging sensation. He hadn’t even thought to heal it himself, so preoccupied with everything else in his head.

   ‘Thanks.’ Sirius stroked his own fingertips over the light scar, watching Remus carefully. ‘I hope you’re looking after yourself as well as you take care of me.’

   Remus laughed softly. ‘This cycle has been bad. I’m not looking forward to the first night.’

   ‘Yeah, well, we’ll all be there with you this time. The Marauders reunited at last.’

   As if on cue, James emerged from Broomstix, beaming broadly.

   ‘ _Nimbus 1001_! Stick _that_ in your pipe!’

   The moment with Remus was lost, but somewhere inside the buoyancy and elation, which Sirius felt only in the company of his friends, was found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB. I spent a lot of time musing on Sirius’ OWL grades. In the end I settled on the results I felt most likely for an extraordinary but distracted student, so I hope they seem fair enough.
> 
> Thanks for reading as always!


	4. Dangerous Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the huge delay on this chapter - I have not been in the right headspace for this fic at all recently and had a half finished chapter lying around for weeks, but it’s here now! Thanks as always so much to people who read/left kudos/commented on the last chapter. You’re the best!

   Evening found James Potter leant back against the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, boasting brazenly to three witches about his recent signing to the Wimbourne Wasps for a record fee.

   ‘Three Ogden’s for the ladies, Tom!’ he drawled, tapping his hand on the bar.

   The toothless barman appraised him for a minute, then said, very obviously, ‘I don’t serve firewhiskey to schoolboys, Mr Potter.’

   The witches all reeled, looking disgusted. ‘You’re still at _school_?’

   James tried very hard to save the situation. ‘Youngest seeker in the major league for a century,’ he lied, with a non-committal smile.

   The three of them flounced away, though not before one had thrown her butterbeer straight over his robes.

   Sirius roared with laughter at the nearest table, grinning more widely that he had all summer. ‘Given up on Evans, have you?’ he called.

   ‘First Tom, now you!’ said James, stalking over to the table and dropping down into his chair. ‘Dickheads.’

   ‘Yeah, like you were actually going to get any,’ Sirius rolled his eyes.

   ‘I can’t _wait_ to not be sixteen,’ muttered James.

   ‘Tell me about it,’ said Sirius. In a couple of short months he would be of age, and that meant never having to see his family again. His birthday was in November - they wouldn’t even be able to drag him back for Christmas.

   ‘Doesn’t it scare you though?’ piped up Peter, lowering the hat that he had been attempting to mend. ‘I mean once you’re seventeen, that’s it! You’ve got to find your own way - figure out what you’re going to do with your life!’

   ‘No,’ said Sirius and James in unison.

   Remus hadn’t said anything during the exchange. He was looking miserably down at his soup, stirring the orange liquid slowing but not eating anything. He’d only ordered food because Sirius had made him.

   ‘Come on, Moony,’ Sirius said encouragingly, ‘you gotta eat something. You’re skin and bone!’

   He shook his head, dropping the spoon and resting his forehead down on his arms. ‘Wake me when James grows up.’

   ‘Remus I can’t wait ten years to talk to my best friend.’

   Remus mumbled something indiscernible into his arm, but Sirius could tell that he was smiling.

   ‘Do you want to go to sleep?’

   Remus nodded, then looked up to shoot a furtive look at James.

Sirius glanced from Remus to James, then stood up immediately, stretching widely. James and Peter, who had descended into a deep conversation about girls, turned to look at him. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he announced.

   ‘ _Bed_?’ said James, looking aghast. ‘It’s ten o-clock!’

   ‘Yeah, well, it’s an early start isn’t it! You know I hate mornings.’

   James looked at him dumbfounded, completely oblivious to Remus’ exhaustion. ‘Come on, Padfoot, don’t be a dick.’

   ‘Me too,’ said Remus quietly, standing up beside Sirius and swaying a little on his feet.

   ‘Lightweights,’ James muttered darkly. ‘Come on, Peter, I don’t think those ladies over there saw…’

   Already distracted by his new targets, James let the two of them go without any more complaints.

   Sirius put his arm around Remus’ shoulders with a display of joviality, though really he squeezed his arm, holding him steady in a reassuring grip. ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs.’

   The two friends made their way up the narrow staircase, leaving behind the increasingly raucous sounds of the inn. They made their way across the rickety corridor to the room that Remus’ parents had booked for him. Sirius had no such luxury, but he had planned to sleep on James’ floor anyway.

   Remus unlocked the door and walked inside, yawning so widely that his taut skin stretched even further.

   Sirius surveyed his friend with sad eyes.

   Remus had walked straight over to the bed, dropping down on top of the sheets and letting his head fall back amongst the pillows.

   Over the last few years, Sirius had got so used to lunar charts and counting cycles that he knew the patterns of the moon like he knew the days of the week, but even more than that, he had grown to recognise the smallest changes in Remus’ behaviour, the waxing and waning of his appearance.

   Even without the charts, he would have known that it was only two or three days before the full moon. Tomorrow, he knew that Remus would be barely functional, sleeping through much of the day. He would be forgetful, non-combative, quiet. Then the following day he would be a different Remus. He would be short-tempered, less patient, and even aggressive. That night he would transform, tear himself apart, and live his night of hell.

   Sirius felt sick even thinking about it.

   By the time he would recover fully a few days later, he would have missed most of their first week back at school. Studious, dedicated Remus. It made his blood simmer. As he watched his friend wrap his arms around himself, Sirius was certain of one thing: if he could have pulled that curse out of Remus and put it in himself, he would’ve done it without a second thought.

   ‘How are you feeling?’ he murmured.

   ‘I wish this could have all been a week ago,’ said Remus sadly.

   ‘Don’t think on it, Moony, nothing happens in the first week anyway,’ Sirius replied, mustering a smile.

   ‘Will you stay here?’ Remus asked shyly.

   Sirius smiled at him. He had fallen asleep by Remus’s side countless times, but still his friend always seemed embarrassed to ask him to stay. Sirius would never say so, but he was fairly sure that Remus did not like spending the nights alone. He suspected that the memory of the wolf’s attack as he slept - an innocent, dreaming child - had never quite left him.

   He jumped onto the bed next to Remus, pushing him sideways to make more space.

   ‘This time tomorrow, we’ll be in the Gryffindor common room,’ said Sirius, grinning and turning his head.

   Remus smiled back at him. Their noses were an inch apart. ‘I’ll be curled up groaning in the dormitory,’ he said, though his tone was upbeat.

   ‘Don’t worry, nobody will be able to hear your over James’s snoring.’

   Their laughs receded into quiet.

   With a wave of his wand, Sirius extinguished the lamps, knowing that silence was Remus’s sign that he wanted to sleep, but after a few moments, Remus spoke into the darkness.

   ‘Everything is changing.’

   Sirius shifted, feeling their arms brush together. ‘What do you mean?’

   ‘Haven’t you been reading the Prophet?’

   Sirius was glad that his friend could not see his dark eyes. ‘I don’t need to. You get a daily play-by-play in Grimmauld Place.’

   ‘Do you think it’s… _serious_?’

   ‘People are dying, Moony.’

   ‘I know, I mean… do you think it’s _really_ serious? Like Grindelwald serious? It doesn’t look like the Ministry are going to be able to stop it, so maybe Dumbledore…’

   Sirius looked up at the ceiling, his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness. ‘I think this one might be too big for Dumbledore,’ said Sirius.

   They laid together in a terrible silence. ‘Someone has to stop them,’ Remus said finally, his usually soft voice amplified by vigour.

   ‘I know.’

   ‘We’ve only got two years left of school.’

   ‘I know.’

   ‘You realise what that means?’

   Sirius did, but he had no desire to voice it. That didn’t stop Remus.

   ‘It means that soon, we’re the ones… it’s going to be up to our generation, Sirius. This is our war.’

   ‘Yeah, well, I’m not ready to watch any of my friends die yet,’ Sirius said, more harshly than he had intended, and Remus kept quiet after that, perhaps afraid that his friend was angry at him.

   Sirius wasn’t angry with Remus.

   He was angry that his words so clearly recalled Arcturus’s earlier. Everyone seemed to be telling him to start making choices… a constant reminder that the war was coming.

   Maybe Peter was right: coming of age wasn’t sounding so great after all.

*

   As he had expected, Remus sleepwalked his way through much of the following morning.

   Sirius followed his movements with sad eyes, watching as even James noticed his condition, lowering his voice from its usual 200 decibel volume and bringing breakfast up to Remus’s room.

   Still, Remus seemed determined not to spoil their return back to Hogwarts, and even from his bed he arranged his face into an almost-convincing smile and chatted to Peter about their upcoming classes.

   When the clock started edging closer to 11 o’clock, the boys changed into their muggle clothing, packing up their trunks with the last of their purchases from Diagon Alley.

   ‘Here, Padfoot!’ said James, pulling Sirius aside.

   From his trunk, he withdrew a red velvet blazer, throwing it across to him.

   ‘What is this?’ said Sirius, in mock disgust.

   ‘This is what cool muggles are wearing right now.’

   ‘This is what the muggle version of my family are wearing right now,’ laughed Sirius. ‘Only _green_.’

   ‘Nah, Sirius, you don’t get it! It’s glam rock.’

   Sirius stared at him with raised eyebrows. James made a concerted effort to keep up with muggle music and fashion, but he rarely executed the looks he found with any success. However different he might be to the Black family, he was still a pure-blood from an all-wizarding village. Still, Sirius always respected his efforts.

   ‘I think I’ll stick with leather,’ said Sirius. Yes, the muggle penchant for leather in all its forms was a fashion that he could get behind. It was hardy, warm, and perfect for motorcycling. He pulled on his own leather jacket, stamped on the back with a muggle bike brand.

   James didn’t seem deterred, shrugging and putting on the new blazer himself. ‘Your loss!’

   There was a knock on the door, and one of the Leaky Cauldron maids entered the room. James had given her a wink before she even opened her mouth. She flushed furiously, before holding up a copy of the Prophet.

   ‘Complimentary paper, boys?’

   Peter was only halfway through saying ‘the news just makes me depressed - ’ before James had taken the paper and unfurled it.

   Across most of the front page was a giant image of the Dark Mark, animated and seething in the sky. Sirius peered over James’s shoulder, eyes lingering on the mark he had first seen branded on Rodolphus Lestrange’s arm, before sliding down to the text beneath.

   _SIXTEEN MUGGLES DEAD: DEATH EATERS CLAIM RESPONSIBILITY._

‘Terrible, isn’t it?’ said the maid quietly.

   None of them said anything.

   Then, as though she had been waiting to say it to someone all day, the maid continued. ‘I’m muggleborn. My parents could be next. Or me. If they take over - ’

   James seemed to find himself, crossing over to her and putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘They aren’t going to take over. We won’t let them.’

   Sirius wasn’t sure who ‘we’ was, but it seemed to reassure her, because she nodded, wiping her eyes quickly with her sleeve. James gave her a winning smile. Sirius smiled to himself too - when James was actually _present_ , there could be no nicer guy in the world.

   ‘Have a good journey boys,’ the maid said, sniffing before turning back out of the room.

   Remus, who had been sitting back down, his head against the bedpost and his eyes closed, asked softly: ‘how many?’

   They didn’t need to ask what he meant. ‘Sixteen,’ said Sirius hollowly.

   ‘I meant what I said,’ James said, puffing out his chest and straightening his back. ‘You’re with me, right?’

   Remus nodded, eyes still closed.

   Peter picked nervously at his fingernails, not meeting James’s eyes when he looked around at each of them.

   ‘Peter?’

   ‘Right. Yes. Of course, James.’

   ‘And you, Sirius?’

   ‘Yeah. We won’t let them.’

   In the pocket of his muggle jacket, Sirius felt his fingers curl into a fist.


	5. Schooldays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had to take a break from writing over the last couple of months due to rl responsibilities, so I am sorry that this took so long. Thank you so much to the commenters and kudos-givers across the previous chapters; you always inspire me to come back to writing. xx

Night seemed to draw in particularly early on the Hogwarts Express, as though the sun was eager to depart during these dark days. The weather was dull for a September - summer having gone the same way as the sun - and there was heavy rainfall against the windows.

   Sirius’ forehead rested against the glass, his body humming with the vibration of the train as it pressed further north. He watched the landscape, just as he had when they had travelled back to London. Had it really only been several weeks ago? The summer had felt like a lifetime.

   Peter had exhausted his energy a couple of hours earlier, and was either asleep, or pretending to be so to avoid James’ pestering. Remus was curled up into a small ball on the seat beside Sirius, the top of his head squeezed in against Sirius’ thigh. He too had his eyes closed, but Sirius knew that he was awake. His breathing was unsteady, and he was a little too still, his limbs tensed up.

   James was opposite Sirius, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He had been picking absentmindedly at the wood on his wand for what seemed like an hour, his forehead furrowed into a frown as though he were deep in thought. Even he seemed to have lost some of his energy.

   ‘What can we do?’ he said out into the quiet carriage.

   Neither Remus nor Peter stirred, so Sirius had to peel himself away from the glass to look at his friend. ‘About what?’ He knew the answer, but he wanted a little longer to think over James’ question.

   ‘For real, Padfoot? _The Death Eaters! Voldemort! People dying!_ What else would I be talking about?’

   ‘I don’t know, Prongs,’ he said, nudging his head back against the seat and looking into the luggage rack above him. ‘I thought maybe you were planning our first prank back or something.’

   James scoffed. ‘This isn’t the time for jokes anymore, Sirius.’

   Sirius smirked, raising an eyebrow. He had never expected to hear those words come out of his friend’s mouth. He doubted that James’ resolution would last for long. ‘I don’t know,’ he said again, but this time he rearranged his face back to a more serious expression. ‘I guess we… we finish school. Learn everything we can. Those Death Eaters are no joke, trust me. They know what they’re doing. So we finish up, then I guess… join the resistance?’

   James nodded, scratching his jaw as he worked it in thought. ‘Everyone says that Dumbledore has plans. My parents reckon he’s got some secret force going - his own army ready to take down the Death Eaters.’

   ‘Well I hope he’s got numbers,’ said Sirius darkly, thinking back to his family dinners. He knew better than anyone how quickly the Death Eaters were growing. He also knew from all the wrong sources that the Potters were correct - Dumbledore had indeed formed a union: The Order of the Phoenix. Would there be enough people willing to die for good? He was almost absolutely certain that there would be fewer than those willing to die for evil.

   ‘I don’t even know about school anymore,’ continued James.

   ‘What?’ Remus sat up at this, his eyes looking particularly wide in his gaunt face.

   ‘Oh, you’re alive,’ said James, rolling his eyes. ‘I just mean… two more years? At _school_? Don’t you think we should be out there fighting already? I mean we’re sixteen - we’re not children!’

   ‘You’re not even of age yet,’ said Remus, addressing only James. ‘Don’t be silly.’

   ‘Besides, the Death Eaters wouldn’t need to kill you if you dropped out of school - your parents would get there first,’ said Sirius, his lips twitching up into a smile.

   ‘But - ’

   ‘Sirius is right,’ interrupted Remus, surprisingly stern given his weak condition. ‘We should be studying even harder. School is more important than ever. We need proper tutelage. No Death Eater is going to be quaking in their boots at the thought of an untrained sixteen-year-old running around on the streets. We won’t get another chance to learn from witches and wizards like Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick… Professor _Dumbledore._ ’

   James, usually so stubborn, seemed to cede under the severity of Remus’ gaze, and slumped back into his seat moodily.

   Remus settled himself back down, as though the minor confrontation had exhausted the last of his energy. This time he rested his head against Sirius’ knee, halting its nervous tremor.

   Sirius automatically brushed the hair from Remus’ face, smiling a little to himself.

   When he looked up, he caught James’s eye. James had been watching them with a strange expression, though he quickly tried to hide it. He seemed torn between fondness and perhaps a little jealousy. The look was gone as soon as he had noticed it, but Sirius thought over it as he looked back out the window.

   Since the day they had met back in the first year, he and James had been almost inseparable. For a long time Sirius had thought of them as a double-act. _Everybody_ , not least their teachers, had thought of them as a double-act. Peter and Remus had been their _other_ friends. Then the four of them had gotten closer and closer until they were the Marauders, and suddenly they were a foursome. But still, James had always been his _best friend_.

   Yet recently, now that he thought about it, Sirius seemed to have been spending more and more time with Remus. Remus’ was the face he had been most excited to see again all summer. Remus’ letters were the ones that he had awaited most keenly. It was Remus’ bed that he had shared last night, and his space that he shared today.

   He told himself that he had not done anything wrong. James was possessive of everything and everyone - it was just the way he was. He liked to be the centre of everyone’s universe.

   Sirius wasn’t going to feel guilty about spending time with their other friends.

   Besides, Remus needed him.

*

As they made their way up to the castle, settled back in their carriage, Sirius mulled over James’ earlier words. He would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about leaving school. He had probably thought about it much more often than his friend.

   He had been maybe twelve when he had first thought about running away forever. In an ideal world, of course, he would have been able to escape his family and still remain at school, but even when he was younger he had known that this would never be possible. To disappear from the Black family, he would have to disappear altogether.

   Sirius had spent hour after hour devising plans. Even then, he was confident that he knew enough magic to get by, and his extraordinary campaign of mischief with James meant that he knew a trick or two to avoid detection.

   He had never shared his plans with his friends.

   Yet now, free from the prospect of having to return to Grimmauld Place again, he had never been more eager to return to school. Next summer he would be safe in the home of people who cared about him.

   And it was all thanks to James.

   Suddenly flooded by the guilt that he had suppressed earlier, he waved his hand in front of James’ face. ‘Hey, look, it’s Evans!’ he said, pointing at the carriage behind them.

   James flew to his feet in alarm, craning his neck to see, but wobbling so violently on the trundling carriage that he almost tumbled over its side. Peter caught a handful of his robes and hauled him back unceremoniously.

   Flushed furiously red, James tried to straighten his robes and his hair at the same time. ‘Oh God, she didn’t see, did she?’

   ‘There I was thinking you were all grown up,’ said Sirius in a mocking baby-voice, ‘but you’re still frightened of Evans.’

   ‘She’s not even there, is she?’

   ‘Someone make James a tranquilising potion before - ’

   Sirius didn’t get to finish his remark before James had launched himself across the carriage and flattened him against the seat.

   They had chosen the wrong moment to fight.

   The carriages had just drawn up outside the castle, and the arrivals were being overseen by none other than a particularly irate looking Professor McGonagall.

   ‘Potter! Black!’

   James let go of Sirius’ hair, but his other hand remained fisted in his collar as he turned to look at her. Sirius, who was in serious danger of losing full access to his windpipe, kneed James _hard_ until he released him.

   ‘On your feet, _now_!’  

   They both scrambled out of the carriage, snatching up their discarded wands. As they stood beside it, trying to compose their robes, they shot each other a snickering smirk that did not go unnoticed by their head of house.

   ‘Do you think this is funny? Potter? Black? _Fighting_ on your first day back? You’re sixth years now - N.E.W.T. students. You’re supposed to be setting a good example! And as for you, Mr Lupin - I’d have hoped that as a school prefect you would take a little more care to keep your babbling pack of braggarts under control!’

   Sirius looked sideways at Remus, who had limped down from the carriage and was now shifting awkwardly beside them. The laugh that he had been trying so hard to hold back disappeared as quickly as if somebody had used a vanishing spell.

   He hadn’t intended to get Remus into trouble for his stupidity.

   ‘I’m sorry, Professor,’ Remus said quietly.

   Sirius felt a surge of protectiveness for his friend, and was half inclined to give McGonagall a piece of his mind, before he remembered the news that Arcturus had brought over the holidays. He glanced at his friends again. Did they know that Antonin Dolohov had murdered McGonagall’s brother in cold blood only weeks ago? He couldn’t remember whether the mainstream press had got a hold of the news.

   He looked back to McGonagall with a genuinely sober face.

   ‘Sorry, Professor,’ he said.

   James shot him a look that said that told him he considered this the utmost betrayal, but Sirius ignored him.

   With a heavy sigh and a tone that suggested great effort, James too said, ‘sorry.’

   McGonagall’s face softened a little. ‘Right. Well. Don’t let it happen again. I’d hate for you to spend your first weekend back at school in detention.’

   Sirius nodded glumly, his thoughts now clouded by a depression that had nothing to do with the threat of detention.

   Perhaps Remus noticed, because he put a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder as James led the way up to the castle.

   ‘How are you feeling?’ Sirius asked him, barely audible over James’ dark mutterings.

   Remus constructed the brave face that he always did - he probably thought that it still fooled the other - and smiled. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I won’t get scary until tomorrow,’ he added, widening his smile to bare his teeth jokingly.

   ‘Oh bite me.’ He meant it to be funny, but he couldn’t conjure the smile to go with it.

   Remus didn’t seem to mind.

   The four friends made their way into the great hall in a rather more muted manner than usual. James and Sirius barely even managed a smile when Peter tripped over his own robes right beside the Slytherin table.

   As they took their seats at the very end of the Gryffindor table, James immediately slammed down his hands on the empty wood as though he had decided to raise the mood. ‘Jesus, why can’t they feed us first, huh?’

   Sirius wanted nothing in the world less than he wanted food at that moment. He would have preferred to disappear up to the dormitory and lock himself away behind his bed curtains. Had anyone ever tried to go to Gryffindor Tower before the feast had even started? He thought about asking Remus for the Fat Lady’s password so that he could go and try, but before he could do so, James spoke again.

‘You know, when I said that the time for jokes was over, I didn’t actually mean that we all had to sit in meek misery twenty-four-seven, right? Like we’re still _us_ …’

   James looked so earnest that he almost felt sorry for him. James might like to act mature sometimes, but Sirius knew that laughter and friendly rebellion was like oxygen to him.

   ‘Sorry, Prongs.’

   ‘What’s got into you?’

   ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Sirius said, chewing the inside of his cheek as he glanced at the other Gryffindors around them. He wasn’t sure whether he was going to tell the others about McGonagall at all, but he absolutely wasn’t going to do it here amongst all the prying ears. If the Prophet hadn’t reported it, there was almost certainly a good reason. The Ministry were surely getting their instructions from Dumbledore by now.

   He looked up as a long line of shivering first years appeared at the entrance of the hall.

   They were so small - many of them in oversized robes. Had he and James ever really been that tiny? Had Remus?

   Sirius felt a sudden rush of envy. What he wouldn’t give to be a bright-eyed eleven-year-old, nervous and excited to start his first year at Hogwarts…

   They could understand nothing of the horrors that were awaiting them beyond the secure walls of the school, the dark forces at work even at this very moment. The muggleborns would know not yet of the violent campaign against them and their families. The kids would not yet realise how deep their divisions would one day run: _Gryffindor, Slytherin…_

   He glanced over at the Slytherin table, but Regulus’ back was turned.

   With a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, he looked back to the table, eyes downcast. Of one thing he was now almost completely certain: he and Regulus were to stand on opposite sides of this war. Fate had decided that many years ago now, at the very moment that the Sorting Hat had called out Sirius to ‘ _GRYFFINDOR!’_ and Regulus to ‘ _SLYTHERIN!_ ’

   Maybe if he had realised it then, he could have done something; could have worked harder to ensure that the gap between two tables didn’t become the chasm between two lives.

   But he had just been a wide-eyed boy, with an even wider-eyed kid brother - no different to the innocent newcomers now lining up at the front of the hall.

   They could never have known.

  


End file.
